


All Is Fair In Bread And War

by Novaviis



Series: Watercolour [6]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Awkward Dates, Awkwardness, Date gone wrong, First Dates, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Puppy Love, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young Love, just so much of it guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 21:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14902641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novaviis/pseuds/Novaviis
Summary: Now that Dick and Wally are official, they figure it's time that they go on their first real date. That's a capital "R" Real date, the kind with fancy dinners and nice clothes and  a sorry attempt at romancing via flowers. It goes just about as well as you'd think it would.





	All Is Fair In Bread And War

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, if you're the kind of person that has to stop reading periodically from second hand embarrassment, this might take you a week to read. You should totally read it though, it's real fuckin' cute.
> 
> Also, for future reference, Ostréipyge means butt oyster. I’m a serious writer.

Leaning under the flow of the sink, Dick wet his hands and rubbed them through his hair for the Nth time that afternoon. He reached out, shutting the faucet off with more force than necessary as he stood up again and looked into the mirror. His reflection screamed “drowned rat” more than it did “first date with boyfriend in twenty minutes”. He’d styled and restyled about ten times now, and he was pretty sure all the gel and paste had literally fused to his hair. Despite his best efforts to wash it all out and start fresh each time he decided he looked like an electrocution victim, it wasn’t _working_ , he was making it _worse_ , and this fucking _sucked_.

Dick didn’t think of himself as an overly vain person. Most days he just brushed his hair and ran out the door. He only ever slicked it back because of his stupid school’s dress code, or when Bruce dragged him off to some Gotham Elite event. But this was his first date with _Wally_ , and sue him, he wanted to look good.

It did occur to him that he was using his uncooperative hair as an excuse avoid actually getting dressed and _going_ on this date, but he eagerly shoved that thought aside in favour of aggressively running a towel over his head.

After blow drying his hair, combing it through, and settling on a little pit of pomade to keep it tamed, Dick realized this was as good as he was going to get. He sent one longing side glance toward his shower, debating if he had enough time to jump in (again). One look at the time on his phone gave him the answer in a firm _no_. Wally was supposed to be here in ten minutes. _Shit_.

Dashing into his bedroom, Dick nearly tripped on the area rug in the center of the room in his haste to get to his closet. He had a distinct feeling that the boxers covered in space cats and the t-shirt he was currently wearing would not be suitable for a first date – let alone going out in public. Pushing through the racks, he struggled to find something that wouldn’t make him look like a clown. Problem was, most of his nice clothes had been bought by Bruce and were _too nice_ , and the only other clothes he picked out were skinny jeans, t-shirts, and hoodies.

This shouldn’t be so complicated, he thought in passing. It was just Wally, they hung out all the time, why did this have to be so different? Because, Dick reminded himself (as he resisted the urge to burry himself alive in his closet), this was a _real_ date. Or at least that was what Wally had called when he brought up the idea.

 

_Dick’s boot landed heavily on the face of a masked gunman. Ignoring the slight crunch of what he was sure was the moron’s nose breaking, he kicked off into a backflip, dodging a spray of gunfire with ease. Landing in a crouch on the concrete, he swept his leg out and spun, knocking the screaming goon off his feet. Without a second to spare, Dick grabbed the gun from the man’s hand and tossed it into the (extremely convenient) nearby waterfall._

_A gust of harsh wind brought his attention to his left. Wally skidded to a stop with an armful of identical weapons and tossed them into the churning waters below. With a grin, he turned to the boy wonder, gaze obscured by the red goggles over his eyes. “So, we’ve been like a_ thing _for a few weeks now-“_

_“You want a medal for that one, Captain Obvious?” Dick cracked back as he pulled out his escrima sticks. His eyes flickered behind Wally. “On your 5 o’clock.”_

_Wally spun around without hesitation, catching a goon in the jaw with the heel of his foot. Dick turned, the two of them standing back to back as a wave of masked bozoos descended on them. Turns out they were none too happy about their Meth Lab hidden in an abandoned Gristmill had been busted by a couple of punk teenagers. Dick had already used the “cry me a river” line while pushing their leader into the actual river._

_“Anyway,” Wally grunted as he ducked under a wild swing. “We should probably, like, actually go on a date at some point.”_

_Dick rolled his eyes beneath his mask, striking out with his escrima sticks and tasing two goons at the same time. “Is this really the best time to be talking about this?”_

_“Why?” Wally grinned over his shoulder. “You busy?” he teased. Dick’s eyes narrowed into a glare. He opened his mouth to make a sharp retort, but Wally interrupted before he could get a word out. “12 to 6.”_

_Dick instantly pushed off the ground, flipping backward over Wally without a second thought. As he came down, he threw a bataraang to the ground. It released a cloud of thick smoke, obscuring both young heroes. They’d completely switched places, allowing Wally to take care of the two henchmen running at them with guns, while Dick took down three unarmed men. When the mist of the waterfall on the other side of the mill drifted over them, the smoke was cleared away, and the boys were left in the centre of a group of groaning adult men in varying states of consciousness._

_Dick reached up to touch his finger to his ear. It’d been a while since they had to use their comms, but M’gann was off world with Martian Manhunter, and they were severely lacking in telepaths. “Robin to Aqualad. The mill is secure.”_

“Good work,” _Kaldur responded through both their ear pieces._ “I’m sending Superboy to you for pick up.” _They could just barely hear the revving of the Super-Cycle in the background before the connection was cut off._

 _Glancing back over his shoulder, Dick found Wally gathering up any dropped weapons that they’d missed. The mill was a largely featureless brick building, sitting precariously on the edge of a long drop into the rapids below. They stood between the mill and the waterfall, it’s giant red paddle-wheel still turning in water even after decades of neglect. As Wally dropped the guns down the steep drop, they hit the sharp rocks and shattered under the pressure of the waterfall. Dick picked up the last gun and stepped up to Wally’s side, tossing it into the water and watching with odd satisfaction as it broke apart. “Well,” Dick shrugged as he stretched is arms over his head. “Guess if I absolutely_ have _to, I’ll go on a date with you.”_

_“Really?” Wally perked up, sounding twice as surprised as he really should have been. “Like – a date date. A real date.”_

_Dick rolled his eyes and shoved playfully at Wally’s shoulder. “Really? I thought you meant the dried fruit, Kid Mouth.”_

_Wally pushed his goggles up over his forehead (and Dick was certain it was_ only _so he could do that stupid eyebrow wiggle, which of course, Wally proceeded to do).  “Why so fixated on my mouth, Boy Wonder?” he smirked. “Got something on your mind?”_

_Dick’s ears, to his unending frustration, suddenly felt like they were burning, the flush traveling down his neck and cheeks. “Nevermind, I don’t want to go out with you. In fact, I really hate you.”_

_Wally held his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, this is what you get. When you agreed to this, you bought the whole package, shitty jokes and all.”_

_A slight smirk found its way onto Dick’s lips. “Is it too late to return you? I kept the receipt.”_

They’d decided after that mission to go a real date, at a real restaurant, and now that he was a little over five minutes from Wally’s arrival, this all felt way too _real_. Dick groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face as he stood in the middle of his closet. He was getting way too worked up over nothing. Dick kept repeating to himself that it was just _Wally_ , his best friend, who honestly would give two shits what he was wearing. None of these little details mattered, but it was easier to obsess over them than the possibility of this date being a total flop.

Yeah. _Not_ following that train of thought.

Finally just pulling down a pair of black slacks, a blue button down shirt, and a grey tie, Dick resigned himself to just pulling the metaphorical trigger and making a decision. He could spend hours nitpicking at his appearance and he’d never feel like he was ready.

Four minutes and thirty eight seconds later found him descending the ostentatious staircase toward the manor foyer, eagerly peeking out the window as he headed down the steps. The grand two-story windows looked out over the manicured front gardens and the long, winding drive up to the manor, all tinted peach in the warm evening light – but no Wally. Dick sighed and sat down on the bottom step, pulling his phone out of his pocket to make sure he hadn’t missed any texts from the absent speedster. Nothing.

“May I ask what the occasion is, Master Dick?”

Dick started, jumping to his feet and nearly tripped off the step as he turned around. Alfred was just coming around the corner, behind the staircase, appraising his outfit with a raised brow.

“Alfred! Hey!” Dick forced a smile, standing stiff as a rod. “Uh, thought you were out of town with Bruce this weekend.”

“I stayed behind to sort out a few menial issues with the Estate,” Alfred replied in monotone. “And the meaning for your more refined than usual state of dress? Though I am not making any complaints.”

Dick froze. He knew that Alfred wouldn’t care that he was dating Wally now. In fact, the butler had probably seen it coming long before either of them did. Still, he’d made a promise to Wally when they started this that they’d keep it under wraps. They hadn’t even been together a month yet, Dick wasn’t about to ruin it by braking his one promise. “I’m… going to the museum with some friends from school,” he said. “There’s a Classics exhibit on, and we got an email from our Humanities professor that anyone who goes will get extra credit before the term starts in September. Barbara’s going too. And, y’know… it’s a fancy museum.”

To be honest, it was a pretty good lie. The email was real, and a few of his friends, including Babs, were going to the exhibit for the extra credit. Dick had declined the offer to go with them for his date. He’d just have to text Barbara and beg her to lie for him should anybody ask.

Alfred’s suspicion softened. “Very good, Master Dick. I shall leave to you it, then.” With a nod, Alfred continued on his way across the grand foyer, disappearing into the East Wing of the manor.

Dick deflated, tension flooding from his body with a relieved sigh once he was sure the butler was out of ear shot. It didn’t feel good to lie to Alfred, especially when he knew that it wouldn’t _matter_ , but a promise was a promise. Whether it was a blessing or a curse, Dick didn’t have too much time to dwell on it. A rapid knocking on the door behind him had him whipping around, and this time _actually_ tripping on the last step in his haste to get to the door. Catching himself after stumbling a few times, Dick raced to the door and pulled it open to find Wally –

Wearing jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt. Dick’s stomach dropped, embarrassment hitting him in a tidal wave. He should have known he was overthinking it, he was _way_ too over dressed for this, and now he looked like a total dork. “Uh—” Dick stammered, “I didn’t- wait, I can go change, I thought—”

Catching onto the vigilante’s wide and panicked eyes, Wally waved his hands between them. “No, no, you’re good! You’re fine, you look great, I just—” he slipped his backpack over his shoulder. “Lemme use a bathroom, I’ve got my clothes in here. I couldn’t leave the house dressed nice without my folks asking questions.”

Dick wasn’t sure if he should feel more or less like an idiot for panicking so much. Regardless, he stepped aside, and before he could get another word out, Wally was racing off into the manor. Dick hadn’t even closed the massive oak door before Wally reappeared. He stopped right outside the door, standing on the porch exactly as he’d done seconds ago.

“There,” Wally grinned as he straightened out the bottom of his grey vest, “now we can do this right.” Along with the vest, he was wearing matching pants and a white button down shirt. Dick only realized he was staring when Wally averted his gaze with a bashful smile, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I- uh, I wore it to my cousin’s wedding in April, ‘cept it had a blazer, but I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard aaannddd now I need to shut up.”

“No, you’re good,” Dick quickly interjected. He smiled, mirroring Wally’s words. “You’re fine. You look great.”

They both laughed, quiet and subdued by their own rampant nerves. As the laughter died down, an awkward silence soon after took its place as they realized that neither of them really knew how to do this. They were standing in limbo, Wally just outside the door and Dick just inside, with no clue how to breach the border between them. That is, until Wally’s eyes widened.

“Oh shit, shit, shit!” he cursed as he tore open his backpack. The clothes he’d arrived in fell carelessly onto the polished stone of the porch as he rooted around in the bottom of the back.

Dick frowned, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned forward, trying to peak into the back. “What?”

“It’s stupid, I just…” Wally paused, seeming to find what he was looking for – though he didn’t look all that pleased about it. His entire posture dropped, head falling forward, shoulders slumping, as he stuck out his right hand. Clutched in his fist was a limp bouquet of wilted flowers. The stems were dotted with little yellow bulbs, that, oddly enough, sort of reminded Dick of popcorn.

Dick’s eyes flickered back up to Wally. “Flowers?”

“Yeah,” Wally sighed. “I didn’t buy them or anything. They grow in the ditches all over Kansas, I just grabbed some up on my way to the Zeta Tube. They’re called Mullien Foxglove or something like that. They’re super poisonous, too.”

“You brought me _poisonous flowers_ ,” Dick clarified. He plucked half a stem that didn’t look too bruised, turning it over to look at the deadly little bulbs. “That’s… actually pretty cool.”

Life returned to the crestfallen speedster. Wally stood upright again. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dick chuckled as he tucked the stem into the breast pocket of his shirt. “But there is no way those are gonna survive,” he pointed to the dying bundle.

“Totally right,” Wally chucked the flowers into a nearby hedge.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

The restaurant was called Château de Ostréipyge. It wasn’t exactly a castle, as the name suggested, but it’s size and grandeur had Dick and Wally feeling more than a little out of place as they stepped out of their cab. The building looked like it had been airlifted straight out of Europe and dropped in the middle of Gotham South, constructed of marble pillars and arches, with ironworks and emerald stained windows. They’d been dropped off across the street, but from their vantage point, they watched as a line up of limos waited to drop of their patrons at the front door.

Wally paled. “ _This_ is where you made reservations?”

“Yep,” Dick nodded, not looking much better. “I mean, this is where Bruce takes his dates. It made sense at the time. This isn’t even his favourite spot, it’s like his second pick – I thought that meant it’d be a little more… scaled down.” To be honest, he just didn’t want to take Wally to Bruce’s favourite spot on the off chance that an employee mentioned seeing them together the next time Bruce went there. Now that he was here, though, he’d hate to see how fancy Bruce’s first choice would be.

Wally scoffed. “Yeah, scaled down one step from Royality, maybe.”

Dick elbowed Wally in the side. “It’s not _that_ bad,” he defended.

“Okay, okay,” Wally sighed. “Sorry. Nerves.”

Forcing himself to relax, Dick nodded, turning back toward the restaurant. “Yeah. Same.”

“Well, we’re here, and we’ve already got the reservations,” Wally shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Might as well check it out, right?”

“Right,” Dick nodded, subconsciously smoothing his hair back. They’d just taken down a major drug operation only three days ago, walked right into the gunfire like it was nothing. This was just a bougie restaurant. They could totally handle this. Steeling himself with that resolution, Dick held his hand out in a silent offer to Wally. Wally hesitated a moment, his eyes darting around them with paranoid fervor, before finally reaching out and taking it.

It wasn’t an overly busy night, so they had that going for them at least. There were only two groups ahead of them when they made it inside the restaurant, waiting in the foyer for the Maître D’ to take them to their table. Wally tapped his foot nervously as he took in their surroundings. This place seemed more tailored to middle aged millionaires in three piece suits than two teenagers wearing what might be suitable for their High School’s Semi-Formal.

Wally leaned down slightly to whisper in Dick’s ear as they moved up in the line, a touch of panic in his voice. “Dude, we’re the only people here under _30_.”

“I know, I know,” Dick hissed back. “Just relax, we won’t stick out that mu—”

“Can I help you two with anything?”

Dick and Wally stiffened, attention snapping to the Maître D’, a woman with greying hair and a stern glower beneath horn-rimmed glasses. Standing behind her small podium, she looked at the boys in front of her in the obvious assumption that they were lost.  

Dick stepped up and cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, we actually have reservations.”

The woman raised an unimpressed brow. “ _You_ have reservations?”

Dick was more than used to having to put on a polite face in public. It came with the whole “adopted by a billionaire” gig. Still, that didn’t make not glaring right back at the woman any easier. “Yes. I do. Richard Grayson? I called for Bruce Wayne’s usual table.”

And up went the other brow. The Maître D’ stared down at him for a moment longer, not sparing his date a second glance as recognition finally set in. She sent a cursory glance down at her reservation book. For one moment, she looked like she might want to argue against letting them in. The way her top lip twitched in irritation was a dead giveaway. Finally, she gave in. “So you do,” she sighed before calling a nearby waiter over. “Monsieur Branleur will bring you to your table. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”

The waiter gave the Maître D’ an incredulous side glance when he was given his charges for the evening. She waved him off, eager to get to the next customers in line behind the boys. The waiter wasn’t nearly adept at hiding his contempt for the young men – and that was saying something. At last, he sighed and gestured toward the dining room. “This way, if you’d please,” he said through gritted teeth.

Dick and Wally followed, sticking close to each other as they made their way through the rows of elegant tables and even more elegant patrons. Wally leaned down to whisper in Dick’s ear again. “I feel like he’s leading us to the Guillotine,” he chuckled.

Dick just barely held back a laugh, giving Wally a customary elbow in the side for the comment – only for the jab to send Wally bumping into the chair of an extremely impatient customer. Wally quickly righted himself with a muttered apology over the elderly woman’s scoffing, before quick-stepping to catch up to Dick and the waiter.

Dick kept his eyes forward with a slight grin. “We are _not_ amused,” he whispered in a mock British accent.

Ahead of them, the waiter cleared his throat, and gestured to a lone table by the window. It was set apart from the other tables, to the point that Dick couldn’t tell if this was Bruce’s preferred table because it was more private, or if the restaurant staff were hell bent on keeping them in quarantine. Dick and Wally took their seats across from each other as the waiter handed them their menus.

The waiter grunted as he retracted his arms to fold behind his back. “I’m sorry to inform you that there is no Children’s Menu at this establishment.”

“Look, we get it,” Dick snapped. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught Wally staring at him in mild shock. “Can we just have our dinner without the commentary?”

The waiter was similarly taken aback by the outburst. He nodded sharply. “Very well, then,” he said as he left, though not without taking the Alcohol Menu off the table.

Dick glared at his retreating back. Only once Monsieur whatever-his-name-was had disappeared did he finally sink down into his seat.

Wally whistled low under his breath. “Wonder who shit in his oysters.”

Dick found himself laughing in spite of the foul mood the waiter had put him in. “They’re just pissed because we’re young and beautiful. They’re probably planning to drag us down to their creepy basement so they can perform occult rituals and sap our youthful spirits for their own immortality,” he snickered. The morbid joke got at least a few chuckles out of Wally, but Dick soon saw that his focus was elsewhere. Wally was fidgeting more than ever; shifting in his seat, playing with the silverware, and glancing around them like he expected the windows to explode. Dick tapped his foot against Wally’s leg under the table. “Hey. You know it’s just because we’re teenagers in a fancy restaurant, right? Nothing else.”

“What? Yeah, duh, what else would it be?” Wally insisted, his voice nearly cracking with the force of his conviction. Picking up the menu, he flipped through the limited selection in a clear effort to change the subject. “To be honest, I’m more concerned about how we’re supposed to order.”

Transparent as Wally was, Dick let it go and picked up his own menu. Sure enough, after a few minutes of looking over the options, Dick was completely lost. There weren’t even any _pictures_ of the food. “I don’t recognize half of this food,” he despaired.

“Dude, can’t you figure this out?” Wally asked in growing desperation. “I mean, you grew up speaking Romanian right? Shit, or was it Romani?”

“We spoke Romanian. My Mom spoke a bit of Romani but I only ever learned phrases,” Dick clarified as he turned his menu and gestured to the text. “But neither of those _matter_ because this is _French_ , Wally.”

“Romanian and French are both Romance Languages! That has to count for something!”

“It really doesn’t!”

Wally’s mouth snapped shut, eyes widening a fraction as they focused over Dick’s shoulder. “Shit, Monsieur Jackass is coming back,” he hissed, using his menu to frame half his face as it would hide him from view.

“Okay, okay, uh,” Dick scanned over the menu again. “I think I recognize a few of the things in appetizers, why don’t we just start there?”

“Alright, but no weird stuff – and no fish.”

“I _know_ , you hate fish!”

The waiter stopped at the side of their table with an impatient huff, hands clasped so tightly behind his back that Dick was sure he was going to bruise himself. “I am going to have to ask you _gentlemen_ to mind your voices,” he said with the heir of a school teacher scolding two rowdy kids. Reaching into the pocket of his apron, he took out a fountain pen and a notepad. “Now, may I get you started with drinks?”

With their options in beverages severely limited (this wasn’t exactly the type of place to keep Cherry Coke in stock) Dick and Wally both ordered sparkling water to start. Dick added something that he assumed was blackened beef tips and bruschetta flatbread to their order, completely butchering the pronunciation in the process. The waiter left them with one more glare in warning.

Silence crept up on them. Now, without the distractions of complaining about the staff and trying to decipher the menu, Dick and Wally were left to – just talk, or whatever it is they were supposed to do on a capital “R” Real date. The awkward pause hung above them, an _elephant_ dangling from a piece of yarn just waiting to snap and fall on one of them – and neither of them wanted to address it.

“Sooooo,” Wally drew out the sound until he ran out of breath, gaze firmly planted on his distorted reflection in the spoon sitting on the table to his right. He reached out and picked up a fork in his place setting. “Got any idea why there’re three of these? And like – everything else?”

Dick shrugged, keeping his own hands under the table so he could fidget with the edge of his tie. “One is for the main course, one is for salad, and I think the other is for fish,” he explained.

Wally made a disgusted face at the last option and set the fork down again. “Any idea which is which?”

“Not really,” Dick answered truthfully. “Alfred always reminds me, but I just end up watching Bruce and using what he’s using.”

“Right,” Wally nodded. “Cool, cool. Very, uh… hygienic.”

Silence. Again.

Dick broke the spell. “Are we seriously talking about the silverware?”

Composure dropping, Wally groaned and slumped forward. “Maybe? I don’t know! What do people normally talk about on dates like this?”

“Not silverware,” Dick answered. He folded his arms on the table, leaning forward slightly and pointedly ignoring the glare he got from another patrol for _daring_ to put his elbows on the table. “I feel like people usually just go out to places like this to get to know each other, you know? But…”

“But we already know pretty much everything about each other,” Wally finished for him.

Dick tapped his foot against Wally’s under the table again. “Didn’t know which language I grew up with.”

Wally kicked him right back. “Not my fault you’re literally the most confusing person on the planet.”

Monsieur Jackass returned not long after with their drinks, and a basket of steaming bread to tide them over. Wally was just short of salivating by the time the basket was actually set down on the table. Dick could only imagine how hungry he was already, and so, graciously let him take the first piece. It was some kind of baguette style bread, cut into small slices, with what looked like pockets of melted butter and some fancy cheese baked into it.

Wally nearly moaned after the first bite. “Oh my _God_ , it’s like a Cheddar Bay biscuit on crack.”

 “Really?” Dick laughed. Coming from Wally that was one of the highest praises that could be earned for any carb. Dick took a piece from the basket and took a bite and – yeah, Wally’s reaction was definitely warranted. “ _Oh_ _my God_.”

“Right?” Wally grinned, already reaching for his second piece. “I’m sorry, but if it comes down to the last piece, I might actually bite your hand if you reach for it. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

Dick rolled his eyes as a he took another piece of bread, ripping it in half and popping one end into his mouth. “Anyone ever tell you you’re _soooo_ romantic?”

“Hey,” Wally grinned around a mouthful. “All is fair in Bread and War.”

It was an impulse thing, honestly. Just what he’d do if he was literally _anywhere else_ with Wally and the speedster made some dumb comment. Dick rolled his eyes and promptly threw his food at him. The piece of bread bounced off of Wally’s forehead and onto his plate. Wally quickly scooped it up, heating it with a cocky grin and that _fucking infuriating eyebrow wiggle._ Dick responded to this silent challenge the only way he knew how – by taking another piece of bread and chucking it at his date.

The bread bounced off of Wally’s shoulder and onto the ground. He looked up at Dick in mock horror. “I tell you just how much I love this bread, and now you _waste it_ in front of my _own eyes?_ ”

“You’re the one who described this as War,” Dick retaliated. “Besides, if you love the bread so much, maybe you take _it_ out on a date instead.”

Wally plucked a slice from the basket and flicked it across the table. “Maybe I will.”

Dick, knew he was probably being a show off when he caught the bread that Wally had tried throwing at him. He was also being a show off when he threw it back at Wally with just a little more force than necessary. What he didn’t anticipate was Wally also being a show off, and dodging out of the way. The boys watched in horror as the bread sailed through the air to the next table over, where it hit a woman in the back of her head. The slice stuck to her hair, probably on account of the amount of hairspray forcing her elaborate updo to stay in pace. The woman’s back went rigid as she reached behind her and plucked the offending loaf off her head. She turned around slowly with a look that might not kill, but would certainly maim, torture, and eviscerate if given the chance.

Dick and Wally instantly sunk down low against the table, as if that wasn’t making it more glaringly obvious who had thrown the bread. A shadow fell over the table. They looked up slowly to find none other than Monsieur Jackass scowling down at them.

“I believe it is time for you gentlemen to take your leave,” he seethed.

Not one to get kicked out of a fine dining establishment without his dignity intact, Dick glared right back and rose to his feet. “Fine. But we’re taking the bread.”

 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

During their brief hour in Château de Ostréipyge, the world had, shockingly, gone on turning. Evening seeped into twilight. The city was dark and shadowy, but the sky above was still tinted a vibrant blue, bleeding into violet around the edges. Dick and Wally walked out of that restaurant with their heads held high, and napkins full of bread. Honestly, the wait staff had probably just let them take it to get rid of them. While it was insulting, neither of them were exactly complaining. The bread was worth it.

The two of them walked in silence, heading down a wide street and toward the park a few blocks down. The park was half topiary garden and half weird art installation, with bizarre sculptures and even more bizarre hedge shapes. They were, at least, centered around a relatively normal looking fountain. The drifting mist in the warm, summer night was a welcome relief from the stuffy atmosphere of the restaurant. In favour of speaking to each other, the two of them exhausted their bread supplies until their napkins were empty. They tossed them into a nearby trashcan before gravitating toward the fountain.

Dick dropped himself onto the side of the fountain, a wide concrete ledge acting as a bench. With a long groan, he flopped onto his back. Reaching up to his neck, he pulled his tie loose. “So,” he sighed as he undid the top few buttons of his shirt. “That was…”

“A total disaster?” Wally finished as he sat down by Dick’s head. He pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows.

“Understatement,” Dick huffed. Sitting upright, Dick propped his feet up on the ledge, leaning back on his hands propped behind him. “I’m sorry… I wanted this to be special. Like you said, this was supposed to be our first real date – and I botched it.”

“You didn’t botch anything,” Wally cut in. “It was a duo botching or it was nothing at all,” he added with a light nudge to Dick’s shoulder. Dick tried to laugh, but the sound was hollow and insincere. Wally found himself at a complete loss for words for a long pause, struggling to find a way to comfort his friend. Finally, he exhaled roughly through his nose, head falling back to stare up at the sky. “Promise not to be mad if I’m honest?”

It wasn’t like this night could get any worse. Dick shrugged. “Go ahead.”

“I’m… actually kinda relieved,” Wally admitted with a breathless laugh. “I mean, I _want_ to go out with you Dick, I want to all that dating stuff, but… when suggested a real date, I just felt like it was something that we _should_ do, you know? Like it was some milestone we had to pass before we’re actually considered a couple. But the truth is I don’t want to do fancy dinners where we have to use the right silverware and decode the menu. I just want to do the same dumb stuff we always do together. Like video game nights, and movie marathons, and sometimes kicking some bad guy ass.”

In that moment, Dick recalled a similar conversation on the top of Mount Justice, their feet dangling over the edge of a cliff as they came clean to each other for the first time. It hadn’t even been a month since then, crazy as that was. They’d decided that night that if they were going to give this relationship a shot, they were going to do it their way. Like junk food and video games, but with more kissing. Somewhere along the line, they’d gotten so caught up in doing this “right” that they forgot that, in the end, they liked their budding relationship the way it was. They were trying to force it to be something that it just wasn’t.

Dick smiled in relief, leaning just a little closer to Wally. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Good,” Wally grinned. “So, no more fancy dinners.”

“Not for at least three years,” Dick amended that statement. Who knew, maybe they’d be able to handle the whole formal date thing by then. The question of whether or not they’d last that long didn’t really cross his mind.

“Agreed,” Wally nodded. “But until then, nothing fancier than, let’s say… a Red Lobster.”

Dick jabbed his elbow into Wally’s side. “You’re just saying that because you want the Cheddar Bay biscuits!”

Wally’s grin betrayed absolutely no guilt to that. Leaning in he held his hand against Dick’s cheek and finally got around to the best part of date night. He kissed him, softly, and with more confidence than he’d ever done in the few times they’d actually kissed. Dick’s chest flooded with warmth as his heart boosted into overdrive, making his veins sing. Wally’s smile only widened at the reaction he got from him. “You know just how to read me, babe.”

Dick’s eyes flew open. He leaned out of the kiss, breathless and flushed as he raised a questioning brow. “Did… did you just call be _babe_?”

He’d never seen someone’s face go so vibrantly red so quickly. Wally was nearly one colour from his hair down to his collar bone. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Dick to call him out on his slip. “Yes? No? _No_. Uh…,” he stalled, scratching the back of his head. “Is that weird?”

“Really weird,” Dick said. “But like… _good_ weird.”

“Well,” Wally chuckled with a short shake of his head, “glad we’ve got that settled.”

“Ditto,” Dick nodded (and immediately regretted because _Ditto?_ He sounded like a moron). Floundering for something to say before another awkward silence took hold of them, Dick pushed himself off the edge of the fountain and stood with a light hop. “It’s not too late out. We could still hit the arcade and grab some burgers.”

Wally followed Dick’s lead. This time, he reached out to take Dick’s hand, keeping his gaze solely on his boyfriend. “Then what the hell are we still doing here?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, this was all just a long and convoluted way to tell the story of the first time Wally called Dick "Babe". I am absolutely transparent. 
> 
> A quick note I want to add here, because I did allude to Dick's origins/heritage here. I want to be clear that he's still a quarter Romani, just as he is in the comics. I've just filled in the other three quarters by flipping the misunderstanding that people often get caught up in with Romani vs Romanian being _most definitely not the same thing or even remotely similar_. This is something that, ironically, is going to be more prevalent in fics that will come earlier on the timeline, so sooner or later this end note will become obsolete. I'll probably delete this at that point, but for now, have some context! Once I delve more into Dick's past, we've see more and more of this (and have faith in me, this all does actually have heavy bearing on the overarching plot, I've just never known how to bring it up until now).
> 
> Please comment with your thoughts, feedback, and feelings! As always, you can find me at my links below. Until next time. 
> 
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